


Hers

by galentines



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: F/F, Possessive Sex, Strap-On, uh just porn pure porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galentines/pseuds/galentines
Summary: You knew Miranda was watching.
Relationships: Miranda Croft/Reader, Miranda Croft/You
Comments: 23
Kudos: 91





	Hers

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written reader fic before. This might be a mess. A horny mess. Thanks to Sage for the help. I can't even reread this to edit so I cannot speak to the quality. Enjoy!

You have to admit--when that man came up to you at the bar, leaning too close and speaking too loosely, you felt a small thrill. Not at him; vile, cocky, smelling like a frat house. Certainly not at him. 

But you knew Miranda was watching. 

You knew she was just across the room, getting your second round of drinks from the bartender. You knew her eyes followed you closely, all the time, everywhere you went. You knew she was looking when his hand slipped lower, grazing your ass. There was no way she could miss your reaction, your clenched fists, your worry. 

And Miranda wasn’t kind when she got angry. 

You can still feel her tense arm around your waist, her fingernails digging into your side as she attempted to repress her fury. In the end, her knife ended up against his throat, and you had to drag her out of the bar and down the street before she  _ actually _ hurt anyone. 

It was only a few blocks to her apartment, and with her hand tightly in yours, you didn’t stop running until her key was in the door lock. Your hand has cramped where it held hers and you waggle your fingers when she lets go. You turn to her, out of breath, laughing.

“You really pulled out the knife! I can’t believe it.”

Only Miranda isn’t laughing. Not even a hint of a smile shows on her face. You awkwardly stop, clearing your throat as tension begins to grow. 

“Miran--”

She turns on her heel, stomping up the flight of stairs to the second floor. You almost feel like a child, trudging behind her, confused and worried about what might happen once inside. 

Not that she would hurt you. Never. 

(At least, not unless you asked.)

She continues to say nothing as she unlocks the door, holding it open for you to enter before her. You barely pass the threshold before the door slams shut and you’re pressed up against it, Miranda’s hands tightly gripping your hips. 

“He didn’t hurt you?”

You struggle to answer, still trying to catch your breath from the run. She presses on, squeezing you harder and harder against the door with each word. 

“You’re okay? He didn’t didn't harm you? He didn’t do anything else?”

Finally, you get enough breath in your lungs to gasp a “no,” your head shaking. Her sharp eyes search your face, your body, as if looking for some kind of wound, some physical leftover from his pass. You feel an ache deep in your chest as your hands reach up to wrap around her arms, so strong as they hold you. Miranda is a wonder when angry - as dangerous as fire, with the bright blush of rage coloring her cheeks, making her blue eyes seem even colder.

You loved it. 

“ No one touches you but me ,” she growls, teeth clenched tightly together. “ _ No one. _ ”

Your mouth moves to answer, to assure her that no, never, you belonged to her and only her, but she interrupts you in a fury of teeth and tongue, kissing you so fiercely that your lungs begin to burn again. Her fingertips continue gripping your hips, each one sure to leave a bruise you’ll discover in the morning. You smile against her lips at the thought. 

“Clothes,” she snarls, suddenly releasing you. Miranda was always to the point - never one to draw out undressing you. If she wanted you, she wanted you  _ now _ , and why weren’t you already naked? You eagerly undressed as you followed her to the bedroom, letting your clothing litter her living room. 

“Bed.” You can tell how worked up she is, once she begins speaking in single word sentences. You slip off your underwear, the last remaining piece, and settle on the bed, reaching for her. 

“Oh, no. Lay down. On your back. Hands above your head.”

You knew this game. Way back, the first time she ordered you to do such, you waited with bated breath for a rope, or a scarf. You couldn’t wait to feel the tug against your wrists. But no, that was too easy for Miranda. She expected you to keep your hands still, and she was not happy if you couldn’t succeed. 

You quickly got into position, lifting your hands up to touch the headboard. The plywood is cool against your fingertips, a welcome reprieve from the warmth radiating through your body.. It’s hard to see what Miranda is doing, and you know that lifting your head will be met with a reprimand. You hear her shuffling about, opening a drawer, undoing her belt. 

“You can watch.”

Surprised, you slowly lift your head. Miranda’s shirt has been abandoned, the stark black of her bra contrasting wonderfully with her pale skin. She holds your gaze as she drags her slacks down her legs, revealing that she’s bare underneath. Your eyes widen, but all she does is smirk before grabbing something off the dresser. 

You shiver, clenching your hands to fists as you recognize the harness. She slips it up one leg, then another, and you nearly moan at her quiet gasp as she adjusts it into place, insert snugly inside her and straps tightened around her hips. She makes a show of opening the drawer again, rustling through the various toys the two of you have accumulated. 

“Which one?” she asks, feigning innocence. “The pink? No, we just used that recently. Blue?” And then she turns, her eyes wicked as she looks at you, pretending to consider. “Red.”

You gulp. The red is big. Bigger than your usual. It had been a surprise from her, a new way for her to push your limits. It had been a challenge. Your pulse races as you remember her praise when you finally took it in, the way she cradled your hips as your pain gave way to pleasure. 

Satisfied with herself, she fit the dildo into the harness. Your hands shook in anticipation as she slowly crawled onto the bed, one knee at a time. Her shoulder blades moved smoothly, like a cat carefully stalking its prey. You feel the weight of the dildo against your thigh and groan, but she keeps slinking forward until it sits heavily between your breasts. 

Miranda’s smirk was sharp enough to cut glass, her eyes absolutely ravenous. She’s a vision, towering over you, hair loose and wild as she practically salivates. Her thumb runs reverently over your breast, across the nipple, until she begins tracing the strap against your skin. 

“You want this?” she asks smugly, leaning forward to give you a better view of her own breasts, straining against her bra with each breath. Your heart is racing, your hands twitching with the need to touch, to  _ claim _ , as you try to keep still for her. She continues teasing you. “It sure is big. We should get it ready, don’t you think?”

She raises up to her knees, inching even further up your body, her hand guiding the dildo to rest against your lips. You immediately part them, smiling around the shaft. The silicone is smooth against your tongue as you give the tip a quick lick, your heart swelling as Miranda’s face breaks into a grin. 

You would let her claim you a million times over, just to keep seeing that smile.

“I’m the only person who gets to do this,” she croons as she leans forward, starting to press the dildo further down your tongue. “I’m the only one who gets to fuck your pretty mouth.” You nod as well as you can manage, measuring your breaths through your nose. The width of the toy stretches your lips as she pushes forward, and your eyes begin to water when it creeps deeper. 

“I’ve got you,” she purrs, one hand fisting in your hair. She lifts an eyebrow in anticipation. “You can take it.”

Slowly, the head of the toy reaches the back of your throat. Your eyes begin to water as you try to keep breathing, but she suddenly pushes hard and you gag, hands scrambling for purchase against a pillowcase. She laughs, low and depraved. 

“Shhhh.” Her hold on your hair tightens, but her thumb begins to gently caress your forehead. “Breath. You can do it.”

And you want to for her, so badly. You want her to know, you  _ need  _ her to know, that you would do anything for her. That you would hold the knife to the man’s throat yourself, presenting his corpse to her as a benevolent gift. That you are hers and hers alone. Your cunt is  _ throbbing  _ with the need.

Once your throat relaxes again, she continues pressing forward. You try to keep your eyes on hers and stay open, wanting. Your jaw aches and your tongue feels trapped, your throat surely stretching to its limit. Carefully, you attempt to swallow. 

It works. You open your eyes to Miranda’s beaming face. 

“Good girl. I knew you could.” 

Her other hand reaches up, her fingers tangling with yours. She presses your hands down to the pillow as her hips begin to move, slowly fucking your mouth. You can feel the saliva on your chin and the tears in your eyes, but Miranda gazes down at you with pride. Your chest fills with warmth. 

After a few thrusts she pulls out, and you cough and sputter. She brushes your hair out of your face, wipes away the tears and spit until your sore throat calms. She presses a grateful kiss to your lips. 

“You always do so well.”

“Only for you,” you croak, your voice feeling weak. Her pupils dilate at the words and her smile once again grows wicked. 

“On your hands and knees. _ For me _ .”

You fumble to turn over, her eager hands running over your back as you pull your knees under you and lift your hips. You brace yourself for the feeling of the dildo, but yelp when her tongue buries itself in your cunt instead. 

Her mouth is greedy, her hands holding your hips tightly in place as she circles your clit, then laps at your entrance before she slips inside. You moan loudly, feeling like your throat is in shreds, as she fucks you with her tongue. 

“Only I get to taste,” she mumbles against your folds, relentless. “And only I get to fuck you.”

She pulls away from your cunt with a wet smack, her hands aligning your hips to hers. You gasp when you feel the head of the dildo against your entrance, knowing it’ll hurt. You crave the pain, anticipating the wonderful moment when it blossoms into the most delicious bliss. 

Rather than ease you into it, she sharply yanks your hips back, sheathing the toy completely inside you. While you’re wet enough, it still shocks you, filling you just a little too much, pushing against your walls. She gives you a moment to collect yourself before she draws out completely, immediately thrusting to fill you once more. Your throat hurts as much as your cunt as you whine, willing the discomfort to fade. 

She fucks you fully and completely, show but rough. And surely enough, the toy begins sliding with ease, your arousal collecting on your thighs as she continues to thrust. You begin to lose track of how many times you’ve called out her name, beckoned her not top stop, to go _ faster _ . 

“You’re mine,” she practically barks, her hands possessive, squeezing your waist, your ass, your breasts. Her hands are somehow everywhere at once, yet her hips keep moving, filling you over and over. Suddenly there are fingers on your clit, hard and unforgiving. She leans over your back, her breath tickling your ear as she snarls. 

“Your. Cunt. Is. Mine.”

You groan and fall forward, unable to hold yourself up any longer. She doesn’t even pause, but twists her fingers into your hair once again, rolling your head to the side so you can see her. 

“ _ Say it. _ ” 

You barely comprehend the noises coming out of your mouth. You’re right on the precipice, about to crest. Her hips come to an abrupt stop and you whine helplessly. 

“You can’t come until you do.” She snarls, her hold on your hair tightening. “Now tell me. Who really owns your cunt?”

Her hand strokes between your legs, around your clit, around your entrance where it’s stretched around the toy. 

“You,” you pant, your hips trying to move on the dildo. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Good girl.”

It only takes a few deep thrusts before you see stars. Your knees give out and you’re sure you’re howling, nothing but her strong hold keeping you on the cock. Her hips are still moving, fucking you through it, and every finger and toe clenches. You’re not sure if it’s one orgasm or two, but it lasts far longer than you expect, almost painfully drawn out as your own nails dig into your fists hard enough to draw blood. 

“Enough,” you plead, hoping you’re at all coherent. Thankfully, her hips slow down as she releases your hair. Her hand runs down your back as she gently rocks, soothing you as you come down. 

“Alright, love?” 

You ache at the words, at the lilt of her voice. All you can do is nod, and breathe. Eventually she eases the toy out of you, and you groan at the empty feeling. She affectionately pats your ass before getting off the bed. You can barely keep your eyes open, still trying to catch your breath, still trying to relax. 

She returns with a warm, damp washcloth. You’re helpless to her care. She gingerly runs it over your skin, wiping away the sweat. You hiss when she gently cleans between your legs, but she doesn’t linger and moves forward to your thighs. By the time she’s done, your body is finally loose, your breathing finally even. 

She pulls you against her as she runs her fingers through your hair, nestles you comfortably against her chest. 

“You’re gonna be sore tomorrow,” she warns, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“That’s alright,” you mumble against her shoulder, following it with a kiss against her collarbone. “Worth it.” 

“No one will ever touch you again,” she assures you. You wrap your arms tightly around her as well as you can. “My girl.”

You fall asleep to the feeling of her nails, gently scratching at your scalp, feeling safer than you ever have before. 


End file.
